


What We Are Now.

by palegingerade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post TLD, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9280298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palegingerade/pseuds/palegingerade
Summary: John sometimes sleeps in his bed and Sherlock doesn't mind. Quite the contrary. He has a soldier to rebuild and a best friend to save. It isn't ideal, but it is what it is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit rusty writing for another fandom after so long but that hug. Wow that hug! Hope you like :)

Of course Sherlock had anticipated the quiet knock on the door. Tonight more than ever. It had been two weeks to the day.

"You awake?"

"Come in, John."

"Can I.. would you mind if I.."

"Not at all."

They quickly play out what has become routine. John strips down to his pants as he pulls back the covers on the right side of the bed: John's side.

"Thanks." 

Sherlock doesn't say anything else. John will talk when he's ready, if he wants. They lie in silence for a moment, only the sound of their respective breathing echoing off the ceiling until John fidgets around and drapes an arm across his stomach.

"I was thinking.."

"Yes. About Mary."

"Um, yes, about Mary."

John exhales with force. There's a slight tremor in his hand. Sherlock takes it loosely in his, stroking the back to warm it up. "Do you want to tell me?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course." He says, swallowing the unwanted stirrings of desire. This isn't about him.

"You know this isn't easy for me, um.."

"Yes. It's alright."

They've had numerous versions of this conversation before. John doesn't always come to him when he's upset but it's hardly new either, and since the day he'd wiped away his tears by the fire - the day he and Rosie came home to Baker Street and they were together again, John sometimes asks to spend the night in his bed. It's never discussed, and he's never brave enough to bring it up, but Sherlock always allows it.

Sometimes all they do is talk. Sometimes he tends to Rosie and lets John rest. Sometimes he just holds John until he falls asleep, sometimes stroking the nape of his neck. 

When he'd woken alone that first morning - the space beside him vacant, the sheets pulled up and bed made only on one side, the other pillow plumped even though it wasn't needed (John's unsuccessful attempt to erase all memory of himself from his side) Sherlock had convinced himself that the steadfast army doctor would push him away, be horribly embarrassed, and that things between them were ruined way beyond repair.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case.

Underneath it all and after everything they'd been through, they still are what they are; the same Sherlock and John as they ever were to each other. The longing to take things further at this point isn't important, because this is what matters (he reminds himself with another slow caress of John's shoulder) being here for his broken best friend. He moves over and lifts his arm so John can fully lie on his chest - not that his feelings of almost unbearable, all-consuming lust need strengthening at all right now.

John talks for some time. Sherlock closes his eyes and listens - soft hand in soft hair, fingers fused in what can almost be described as a fully grown-out and heavily greying, military haircut.

"Thank you."

He frowns, for once not recognising the tone. "What for?"

"Listening to me. I know it's not really your area, all this sort of stuff."

"I'll always listen, John, and you can always trust me." The tips of his fingers skim over skin, fingernails dancing and dragging slow, absent-minded patterns in John's scalp until Sherlock can feel his whole body shiver. Should he stop there? Does he want to stop there? Would John want him to stop there? 

"I didn't say it back, Sherlock."

"What?"

"To Mary. I couldn't say it to her. Because it's not true."

"What's not.."

"You're my whole world."

"Understandable. You were in shock. It all happened so fast. I'm sure she knew."

"No. No! Just, shut up for a second." 

John interrupts - all his senses spiking rigid with tension on top of him. Sherlock continues to stroke it away. 

"I mean you." John tuts. "Of course I mean you. So it would have been a lie, you see. I would have been lying to make her feel better, to make me into someone she wanted me to be, and I couldn't.. couldn't do it, not even as she lay dying in my arms, I couldn't lie. I can't anymore."

Sherlock opens his eyes - his own heart pounding too. John is telling the truth. Baring his soul. Skin on warm skin and there's nowhere left to run.

"I tried to fill the void you left, at the start, and then.. It was just too big. Too deep. And then you came back and you were.."

Inhale. Exhale. Gasp. Tremble? 

"Go on." He takes John's hand again and interlocks their fingers. John stops shaking and carries on.

"You were.. no, dammit! You _are_ my whole world, Sherlock."

"I.."

"You don't have to say anything. You don't have to know what to say and you don't have to fix this. I just needed you to know, that's all. Doesn't mean I want.. anything, or expect you to do.. um.. I just needed to get it off my chest, okay?"

Sherlock’s heart roars in his ears and violently thumps against his ribcage, rightly so. His mouth is dry too and he can't speak. John is right, he doesn't know what to say or where to start as every inch of where they're pressed together burns with heady electricity. 

Sherlock wants, so much, and this is _the_ moment. And he's doing absolutely nothing.

"Jesus, will you please say something? Please. Anything, I don't care."

"Maybe I could keep you awake all night talking instead sometime? I'm sure I've got plently of my own repressed memories to get off my chest. You do seem to find it immeasurably helpful."

"You know you can talk to me. Always. Go ahead."

"Mycroft failed physical education when he was sixteen and he fancies Lestrade."

"Sherlock."

"It's true. And _sooo_ blatant!" 

"Sherlock! Can you ever be serious?"

"Sorry." He knows it's a cheap trick: deflecting, and that they've both done it before, but it still has the desired effect of making John smile. Sherlock can almost feel the gigantic roll of his eyes from here but John doesn't let go or push him away this time - if anything, he only grips tighter.

"I was rather hoping we'd leave your brother out of our bed if you don't mind."

"Quite right. Apologies."

"Oh fuck it. You're forgiven." 

John tilts his chin, cups his jaw, brings their lips together hard and Sherlock's world explodes. When John pulls back, digs his elbow in the bed, grabs a fistful of his hair and slowly licks into his mouth, he doesn't have a single other thought in his head.

_John!_

_I'm right here. Now kiss me for God sake!_

Between each slight breath are words left unsaid but they don't need to talk anymore. Sherlock couldn't if he wanted. The blood needed for his brain to form sentences is suddenly diverted to much greedier organs.

"Too fast?"

"Mm?"

"Is this too fast? This is probably too fast.."

He shakes his head, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull the sheet over John's lower back, returning both palms to his arse. No more mixed messages. "Why? Uh, do you think it's too fast?"

"Well I have only been in love with you for seven years, so we don't want to rush things, do we? We're just warming up."

They smile and kiss again, slower this time, and with so much passion the contents of the room start to spin. "You're my whole world too, John. If I've never said. You're all of it. I wouldn't delete the rest of the solar system for just anyone." John tuts again and lies back in his arms, pressing his lips in his neck as he nuzzles into it.

"I know."


End file.
